ff, wooden head. Percival
shrugged his shoulders.

"My father's studio isn't an attractive-looking place," he said, with a
growl of disgust in his voice.

"Why did you come into it?" said Elizabeth.

"I had a good reason," he answered, looking at her.

If she understood the meaning that he wished to convey, it certainly did
not embarrass or distress her in the least. She gave him a very
friendly, but serious, kind of smile, and went on calmly with her work
of sorting the papers and sketches that lay scattered around her.

"Elizabeth," he said, "I am offended with you."

"That happens so often," she replied, "that I am never greatly surprised
nor greatly concerned at hearing it."

"It is of little consequence to you, no doubt," said Percival, rather
huffily; "but I am--for once--perfectly serious, Elizabeth. Why could
you not come down to dinner to-night when Rupert and I were here?"

"I very seldom come down to dinner. I was with the children."

"The children are not your business."

"Indeed they are. Mrs. Heron has given them into my charge, and I am
glad of it. Not that I care for all children," said Elizabeth, with the
cool impartiality that was wont to drive Percival to the very verge of
distraction. "I dislike some children very much, indeed, but, you see, I
happen--fortunately for myself--to be fond of Harry, Willie, and Jack."

"Fortunately, for yourself, do you say? Fortunately for them! You must
be fond of them, indeed. You can have their society all day and every
day; and yet you could not spare a single hour to come and dine with us
like a rational being. Vivian will think they make a nursery-maid of
you, and I verily believe they do!"

"What does it signify to us what Mr. Vivian thinks? I don't mind being
taken for a nursery-maid at all, if I am only doing my proper work. But
I would have come down, Percival, indeed, I would, if little Jack had
not seemed so fretful and unwell. I am afraid something really is the
matter with his back; he complains so much of pain in it, and cannot
sleep at night. I could not leave him while he was crying and in pain,
could I?"

"What did you do with him?" asked Percival, after a moment's pause.

"I walked up and down the room. He went to sleep in my arms."

"Of course, you tired yourself out with that great, heavy boy!"

"You don't know how light little Jack is; you cannot have taken him in
your arms for a long time, Percival," said she, in a hurt tone; "an